Like Wishing for Rain
by Sophy
Summary: "What do you tell someone after you've let them go?" A McCollins story.
1. Letting Go

"Partners! Booyah!"

Nick looked at the assignment board with a grimace. "It was barely novel the first time, Price. And now it's just getting old," said Nick as he nevertheless obliged and gave Chloe the obligatory high-five.

"Well, I'm excited that we're riding together, ok?" she retorted with a grin. "Nothing wrong with that."

Chloe led the way towards the end of the hall to pick up their radios and gear. As eccentric as she was, Nick thought, he admired the way Chloe had bounced back from the shooting. In the months since Ford had violently targeted the 15 Division, she had come back an even more dedicated cop. And while some of her physical scars were still healing, she mostly seemed unscathed emotionally.

Well, he corrected himself interiorly, except for that secret husband thing—

"Oh, sorry."

Deep in his thoughts he hadn't seen her coming around the other corner.

"No, I'm—sorry," he stammered.

She smiled at him. "Riding with Chloe, huh?"

"Yeah," he said tightly.

"I'd offer you something to chew on," she quipped playfully, "but I just had my last piece of gum."

He let out a light laugh, thinking of the first time Andy was assigned to ride with Marlo and the piece of Trident that had momentarily saved her sanity. But so many things had since changed, he thought wistfully.

The two stood awkwardly in silence. Although he had always enjoyed their repartee, lately the words had come to him sparsely and humorlessly. What do you tell someone after you've let them go?

"Go ahead," he finally said, clearing the way to the door.

Andy whispered a friendly "Thanks" before opening the door and stepping into the room.

Chloe had already equipped herself with her radio and Nick quickly followed suit. While a few other officers were also present with them, silence reigned in the room.

"Scary thing, this counterfeit medication ring, right?" The awkwardness was palpable, but Chloe's attempt at defusing it only rendered matters worse.

"Yeah," Nick and Andy said in unison.

They looked at each other. Andy tried to laugh off the coincidence, but Nick had a hard time reciprocating. Instead, he focused on formulating a plan of attack for his patrol round with Chloe. "Chris and Oliver were going to interview people at the docks. I think we should start at—"

The door swung suddenly open, Sam's inquiring face appearing in the door frame.

"Hey McNally, did you..." He spotted Nick and his voice trailed off. "You know what, I'll just ask you after your shift," he quipped before turning back.

Nick could feel his body stiffen, but tried hard to maintain an unperturbed, relaxed expression.

Staring at the now closed door, Andy froze. "Detectives," she finally exclaimed while jokingly rolling her eyes, "you'd think they could figure things out."

She was trying to lighten the mood but her heart sank, convinced she had made matters worse. Sam had clearly sought her out not because he was a detective at work. He had looked for her because he was Sam. And because, after all the dust had settled, she had decided that she didn't want to live through another moment where she would be haunted by the words that were left unsaid and the things that were left undone. That, despite the history and the hurt, she needed to see where her story with Sam would lead her. She had felt that she owed it to herself and Sam. And, most of all, to Nick. But that choice had not left them unscathed. How do you tell someone that you're ultimately breaking their heart because you care for them?

"I'll catch you later," said Nick, averting his eyes, but trying hard to infuse a tone of carefree friendliness in his voice. He cleared his throat before turning to Chloe. "Price. Let's go."

Chloe gave Andy an encouraging smile before slipping out with her partner.

Andy exhaled loudly, suddenly realizing she had been holding her breath for much of that exchange. She badly wanted to fix whatever was left of Nick and her, but for the time being, she sensed he needed time more than anything. Letting out a discouraged sigh, she grabbed her gear and went out the door. She spotted Sam near the desk area and walked up to him. "What did you need?" she inquired.

"Oh," he let out awkwardly, still thinking about the glassiness in Nick's eyes when he had entered the room. "I was just wondering if you had seen Nash. But she actually called—"

"Oh, she'll be here in ten. Some hiccup with Leo's childcare."

"I know. And you would have known that I knew if you hadn't interrupted me," he said teasingly.

She shrugged. After a few seconds, bemused, she asked, "You couldn't have just asked me that before?"

He let out a dry laugh. "It was Awkwardness Central in there. I had to get out."

Andy smiled a sad smile. "Yeah," she concurred softly as she melancholically looked down the corridor and watched Nick and Chloe head out towards the parking lot.


	2. Teams

The squad car felt cold, the late autumn air having settled in the city. The constant sound of the wheels on the pavement was only sporadically interrupted by radio chatter. He stared straight at the road ahead, focusing on the vanishing point in the horizon.

Chloe was starting to fidget. "So...did you want to say anything?" she inquired.

Nick sighed, wondering if Chloe was somehow allergic to silence. "If you don't drive me nuts by the end of the day, I might let you drive the squad."

"Ah," she said knowingly. "Got it. Message received."

"Excuse me?"

"Just wanted to let you know we were on the same page."

He furrowed his brows, once more baffled by Chloe's ability for cryptic non sequiturs.

She rolled her eyes, as though annoyed Nick couldn't divine her thoughts.

"I get it," she reiterated. "We're both going to ignore the supreme awkwardness of that moment back at the station."

Nick winced almost reflexively.

"Sorry," Chloe gasped. "I guess I just drew attention to the awkwardness by talking about it. Like I'm doing again now. And again. I'm just going to stop talking."

"I was hoping you'd say that," he quipped tightly.

He made a turn on Dundas Street before turning onto Greenwood Avenue. They drove in silence for a minute. To prevent himself from masochistically replaying the scene from the station over and over in his mind, Nick focused on mentally counting the seconds of peace "62, 63, 64..."

"Okay, I just want to say that I've always been Team Nick."

He let out a sigh of exasperation. "There are no 'teams', Price."

"Well, I got my Nick jersey on regardless."

"That's creepy."

"Hey, guy, I'm trying to be nice here."

"Thanks. But in case you can't read subtext, let me help you." He grabbed a loose piece of paper from the cup tray, pulled out the pen from his jacket, and scribbled _I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT._ "No subtext. Just text. _I don't want to talk about it._"

Chloe threw her hands in the air. "Whoa. Okay. Fine. Message. Received. Sir."

Nick slowed down on the next street, looking for their suspect's house.

"There," said Chloe, pointing at the door marked #2028.

Nick pulled up to the curb and the two officers stepped out. The house was a rather non-descript one-level house with wooden shingles. There were no vehicles in the driveway nor other outward signs of human presence. The two made their way to the entrance. Once at the door, Chloe energetically rang the doorbell. She waited ten seconds before trying again. Nick stared at her, his arm crossed in front of him, his head shaking lightly. He was going to make a remark about her impatience but thought better than to feed her innate propensity for unnecessary verbiage.

Resigned to the fact nobody was home, Chloe looked at her partner. "What now?"

Nick took out his notepad and flipped through a few pages. "Wade Gallagher's house is just ten blocks away. We can try him first and circle back here later in the day."

For good measure, Chloe rang the doorbell once more, futilely looking at the windows for signs of movement. Nick rolled his eyes before heading back to the squad as Chloe darted off and followed suit.

The partners got back into the squad. They had only left the car for a few minutes, but the warmth inside the vehicle had already dissipated, now replaced with the autumn chill. Nick started the engine and rubbed his hands together before heading east. "Our info on the guy says that he works the night shift at the docks," he said, turning to Chloe. "Hopefully we can catch him at home now."

Chloe nodded absent-mindedly. "Uh-huh."

Nick made a quick turn to the right.

"You look like you haven't shaved in days," she said judgingly as her brown eyes stared at him. "You're not going to grow a mustache, are you?"

"If I threaten to do it, will you stop talking?" he muttered tightly.

"The scruff's alright," she continued. "But it'll be hard for you to find yourself a rebound with a 'stache."

"Price..." he threatened, his voice rising.

"Just looking out for your womanly prospects, is all."

"You are unbelievable."

"Dov thinks so."

"That's not what I meant." And finally, he exploded. "What do you want to know? That I feel horrible? That going to work is the most infuriatingly awkward thing I've had to live through in a long time? That some mornings I ultimately blame myself because I should have known? That I want to let get go but..." Nick's voice trailed off in a mix of anger, frustration, and wistfulness.

"I didn't want to know anything," Chloe said quietly. "Just wanted you to know that it'll be okay."

Nick stared hard at the road. He could still feel the flush in his cheeks.

"I get it, you know," she continued thoughtfully. "It's hard wanting who you want."

They continued to drive in silence for the next block and a half.

Nick sighed. "Listen, I didn't mean to snap at you," he finally let out, apologetically.

"Are you kidding? I was waiting for that _all day_. Don't you feel better?"

"I—" He paused, realizing that he did. "I guess."

She smiled. "Like I said. Team Nick."

With a violent jerk to the right, Nick pulled the car over.

"Ow!" yelped Chloe, holding the side of her head that had just hit the window. "What the heck?"

"Get out of the car."

"Nick—"

"Price, just get out of the car," he repeated firmly.

She sighed and obliged. Nick stepped out of the driver's seat and took the keys out of the ignition.

"Here," he said, tossing her the keys. "You drive."

Her face lit up as she bounced towards the driver's side.

"Don't be too happy. I was just hoping the driving would distract you from your yammering."

She smiled.

"And, to be clear, this doesn't mean that I won't hesitate to kick you out and leave you by the side of the road," he warned before opening the passenger door and slipping in.

Inside, she turned to him and smiled exaggeratedly as she put the keys in the ignition.

This time, he couldn't help but smile too.


	3. Waiting

She stared up at the dark sky and breathed in the cool, night air. Despite the bright lights of the parking lot, she could still discern a few lonely stars peppering the black sky.

"It's a nice night. I'll walk."

The truth is, she was exhausted. Her shift had been relatively uneventful, but she felt mentally drained and emotionally empty. If only she could learn to quiet her thoughts, she mused wishfully.

Sam turned to her and shrugged. "Ok. But I don't want you to call me later complaining about how tired and cold you are from. all. that. walking," he said, exaggeratedly mimicking a breathless voice.

She let out a small chuckle. "Don't worry," she retorted. "I'll call Traci to complain."

Sam scoffed playfully before leaning over and placing a peck on her lips. "See you tomorrow, McNally," he quipped, as he made his way to his car.

As she watched him away in his characteristic swagger, a slight flush came to her cheeks and her body stiffened.

"Sam..." she let out.

He hadn't questioned her or given her a disbelieving look. Nor did she believe he would be angry to know. Yet, she had defaulted into a mode of secretiveness and she was weary of it.

Sam swiveled around.

"I just want to talk to him," she admitted quietly.

He paused, as though momentarily wondering what she was referring to.

"Ok," he finally said before giving her a quick smile, the kind that brought out the wrinkles by the side of his eyes. "Thanks for letting me know." He was trying hard to be understanding. "Now," he continued smilingly, "unless you're going to find another last-minute thing to make me turn around, I'm going to drive home because _I'm_ freezing." Sam turned around to leave once more. With his back to her, he gave her a last wave, his keys jingling in the air. She instinctively waved back, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

Andy let out a sigh, her warm breath leaving a faint white mist in the cold air. She plunged her hands into the pockets of her coat and started looking around for Nick's car to make sure he hadn't left. She then started thinking about what she would say and was suddenly stricken by the panic of realizing she hadn't really planned it through. Every sentence she rehearsed in her mind sounded stilted and ingenuine. Every sentence she thought of in its stead sounded just as contrived and insincere. She groaned interiorly. She, Andy McNally, the chronic planner and perennial overthinker, was at a loss.

Maybe he already left, she tried to comfort herself, walking from one vehicle to the other and not spotting his car.

"I can tell you it's a bad idea."

She spun around. Nick was standing there, one hand in his pocket and the other one holding his bag over his shoulder.

"Nick—"

"If you're going to steal a car, I may as we'll tell you that this place is crawling with cops," he said, gesturing at the station house.

She let out a loud laugh. Soon, a playful smile grew on his face, which was framed with his signature designer stubble. Suddenly, she felt the sense of panic subside in her and instead felt overcome with the shadow of comfortable familiarity.

But the light in his eyes soon dimmed. "Waiting for Sam?" He tried hard to sound friendilly inquiring, but she could hear in his voice the scars of brokenness.

"No," she let out quietly. "I was looking for you."

He looked at her, his eyes meeting hers. A litany of thoughts and feelings descended upon him, but he grew incapable of translating them into speech. Instead, he just sank his hand deeper into his pocket and adjusted his bag over his shoulder.

Anxious to fill the silence, Andy could only think to apologize. "Sorry about this morning. That was awkward."

He shrugged resignedly. "It's not your fault."

"Except, it kind of is."

Silence once again wrapped them, one of the parking lot lamps seemingly shining a spotlight on them. She looked at him wistfully. She could still see a warmness in his eyes that, despite the clumsy stillness, made her feel at home.

"I hate this," she finally let out.

His gaze fell to the ground before he nodded in concurrence. He too had hated the awkwardness and brokenness, yet efforts to repair the discordance between them had come strenuously. It had been so much easier to just avoid it all, he mused melancholically.

"I don't want it to be weird between us," she continued, before wincing as she realized the stupidity of her statement. As though things could be anything other than supremely awkward.

But he understood. "I know."

"Good. Because, I miss us," Andy finally blurted. "I miss..._you_."

He took a deep breath.

"I know I hurt you," she continued. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just don't know what else I can do." Suddenly, she was horrified at how her words came out. And so she went into salvage mode. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't blame you. I could never. You have every right to be how you are and more. I mean, I'm surprised you're even talking to me right now. God, please don't ever stop talking to me," she said pleadingly. "Because then I really wouldn't—"

"Andy. You're rambling."

She stopped. "Sorry," she said softly, but then quickly groaned in exasperation. "Why is it that 'sorry' is the only word I keep saying in this conversation? It's obviously how I feel but you'd think I could have looked it up in a thesaurus before coming out here. Let me fix that right now." She plunged her hands back into her pockets, seeking out the hard outlines of her phone. "I thought about this all day," she muttered almost to herself. "You think I'd be more prepared—"

"I've always been honest with you," he started quietly.

Finally, Andy grew silent.

She nodded, even though Nick hadn't posed his statement as a question.

"And, right now..." His voice broke before he could muster the remaining words. "I'm finding it hard to be your friend." He exhaled, staring hard into the distance, as though the answers were there for him to find.

Her brows furrowed, the way they always did when she was in deep thought, and she, too, took a hard look at some undefined point on the horizon. She felt like she was sounding like a broken record, but all she could feel in that instant was that she was sorry. Sorry she had hurt him, sorry she had weaved for herself a tangled web of unfinished business, and sorrier still that she had felt impelled to untangle it. But, mostly, she was sorry she was losing him. "Nick," she started weakly, "I'm—"

"But I'll get over it."

She turned to him, her eyes meeting his certainly pained, but fully sincere gaze.

"Maybe not right now," he continued. "But I'll get over it."

He cracked the slightest of smiles before moving his bag to his other shoulder, a pensive stare taking back residence into his brown eyes. "You're still—"

His voice trailed off.

She nodded, as though she understood.

Nick gave her one last look and a slight smile. He managed a hurried, "Goodnight, Andy" before softly walking away.

As she watched his silhouette dissolving into the darkness, Andy instinctively bounded up. "Nick!" He stopped himself in his tracks and turned back to gaze at her. "I'll wait," she blurted.

This time, Nick let out a quiet laugh. He was still smiling faintly as he turned back and resumed his walk.

Andy stood under the parking lot lamps for a few minutes, until she saw him disappear into the shadows. Things were finally as they should be, she thought. She had wanted to seek out the next chapter to her story with Sam. Her friendship with Nick had shown her the promise of survival. And yet, and perhaps inexplicably so, she felt a wave of sadness overtake her. She exhaled deeply and started walking towards the street, leaving the glow of the station lights and into the night.


	4. Played

Andy exhaled loudly, briskly walking along the sidewalk, eyes fixated on the ground. The marks on the sidewalk zipped past her gaze as her pace grew more swift. A pair of worn-out boots appeared within her line of sight but she kept plowing through, knowing that whoever was standing in her way would have the sense to move over.

"Whoa, Andy."

She looked up to see his boyish smile. Clad in a loose sweatshirt, he looked at her amusedly.

"Hey," she let out with surprise.

Nick didn't, after all, have the sense to move over, but perhaps that had been for the best. "Going to put out a fire?"

"What?"

His grin grew larger, framed by the weekend scruff he had let grow out. "You seemed to be a in hurry."

"Oh. Just running errands," she said looking around furtively. "My mom is staying with me for a few days—"

"Ah," he interrupted with a knowing glance. "So you're taking a break from her."

Andy grimaced guiltily. "We're finally good, but hours on end with each other? That's just can't be healthy for anyone."

"I guess it depends on who you're stuck with," he said with a small shrug and a laugh.

She sighed. "She's my mom. I want her in my life. It doesn't make me a bad person to want to take a walk, right?"

Nick looked away pensively, momentarily wondering how his relationship would have been with his parents in his adult years. Some days he wished for them to be around and yearned for the opportunity to have them get on his last nerve. Most days, he tried not to think about it.

Shaking that last thought from his head, he returned his gaze to Andy. "I was just running errands myself," he finally let out. "Where were you headed?"

"I think I was looking for a carton of milk from the furthest store I could reach by walking," she confessed.

He looked at her frazzled expression and grew quiet for a few seconds. Soon, a smile grew on his face. "If your mom isn't expecting you for a little while, maybe you could use some distracting."

"Yes. _Please_," she pleaded, feigning exaggerated distress.

* * *

"Really?"

All around them, the lights from various arcade games were blinking in unsynchronized chaos. The cacophonous laughter of children filled the air, interrupted only by similarly discordant yelps of victory and defeat.

Nick dismissed her incredulity with a grin. "You'll thank me."

He led her across the room where an illuminated white table was left untouched.

A smile grew on her face. "Air hockey!" And this time, Andy let her competitive side take over and let her behavior match the age group of the children surrounding her. "I'm going to wipe the floor... and wall, and ceiling with you," she quipped defiantly.

Nick couldn't help but laugh at her ridiculous hyperbole. "Bring it." He kneeled down, retrieving the spare change from his pocket and sliding it into the side slots. The table immediately came alive with the whirring of its air compressor.

With childlike delight, Andy picked up the puck on the table and gave it a strong push with her mallet. They exchanged a few strokes before Nick uncoordinatedly let the puck slip past his goal line and into the slot.

"Shoot," he muttered.

"You're terrible at this."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm just warming up."

For the next few plays, Nick managed to increase the number of back-and-forth exchanges, but the play would inevitably end with the sound of the puck dropping into the goal slot on his side of the table. She would have found his dorky clumsiness endearing, she thought, if she wasn't so intent on destroying him.

Then, in a momentary lapse of concentration, the puck squeezed past the rail and Andy's mallet before slowly sliding into Andy's goal slot. "Nooooo," she cried out exaggeratedly. Nick and Andy both burst out laughing, though Andy was outwardly cursing herself for even letting that one go.

As she leaned over to retrieve the puck, she caught Nick from the corner of her eye, jokingly practicing different plays in midair. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of his disarming grin. They had finally spent more time together of late, she mused. And each time, she was constantly reminded of how easy things still came to them when they were together. In spite of everything. And she was perpetually surprised at how he always seemed to know what she needed, even before she knew it herself. Pausing before putting the puck back down on the playing surface, she stared at him across the table. "Hey...thanks."

He nodded knowingly.

It was easy to lift her spirits, he mused. Just as that thought crossed his mind, however, Andy launched a shot that bounced between the side rails before angling itself past the goal line on Nick's side. She correspondingly launched into a spectacularly embarrassing celebratory dance. Apparently all she sometimes needed, he continued interiorly with a chuckle, was to meld amongst ten year-olds.

Nick picked up the loose disc from the puck return and replaced it on the table. His countenance suddenly grew serious. "Ok, well now that I'm warmed up…" he started mischievously.

Without warning, Nick deftly fired a shot that slammed straight into the goal opening on Andy's side.

Her jaw dropped. "You were playing me?"

"Just lulling you into a sense of false confidence," he quipped as he handily stopped the puck Andy had fired back before expertly propelling the disc towards the bottom third of the table. The puck rebounded exactly twice as Andy vainly scrambled to neutralize it but instead only managed to leave an opening for it to slide past her.

With feigned indignation, Andy picked up the disc once more and placed it back on the surface in front of her. She narrowed her eyes with renewed defiance and pushed the disc swiftly towards the right side rail. The puck bounced back and forth but Nick again effortlessly stopped it in its tracks. At once, he fired the puck back against the left side rail before it ricocheted directly into Andy's goal.

She sighed exasperatedly. "I thought you were supposed to cheer me up."

"No, I said I would distract you," he corrected her with a playful grin. "Anyway, you know you would only be happy if you beat me when I was actually trying."

"You're right," she returned, exhaling resignedly. Andy let her arms fall to her side and jumped up and down, the way sprinters do before a big race. She then switched the hand that was holding on to her mallet to her left hand. _Her dominant hand._

Nick's eyes widened in a mix of surprise and horror before he braced his mallet for the imminent onslaught. "You—"

"Yes," she interrupted with a smile, "_I_ was definitely playing you."

* * *

Back home, Andy would later tell her mother that the game was tied when the air compressor timed out.

Had he been there, Nick would have added that, at the time the compressor timed out, he had possession of the puck and was about to score. He was "sure of it."


	5. The Reporter

"Officer!"

Nick turned around and saw a young woman with a pleasant countenance, her auburn waves whirling in the crisp wind. She seemed vaguely familiar, he thought, but he couldn't quite place her face.

"Can you tell me anything about the York investigation?" she continued without missing a beat.

Nick smiled despite himself, the kind of smile that said, "Ah. You people." He was on his way back to the station after a long, tiring, and ultimately fruitless shift. A murder case that they all thought was going to be resolved within days had evolved into a multi-victim, multi-week, ongoing investigation that threatened to become the defining case for many members of the 15 Division. Dealing with pesky reporters, by contrast, was child's play.

"Ma'am, our detectives will speak with the media shortly. You'll get all the information you'll need then."

Despite his rebuff, she looked at him amusedly. Nick noticed that she hadn't drawn her own weapons: both her notepad and recorder were nowhere to be seen.

"Brooke."

He saw her move coming but played along nonetheless. "Excuse me?"

"I prefer that to 'ma'am.' Makes me feel less...old."

"Okay, Brooke," Nick returned patiently, immune to her friendly overtures. "But you'll still need to wait for the official media briefing."

As he was about to turn away from her and continue on his way, she let out a small laugh. "Officer Collins, how hard does a girl have to work to get your number?"

Nick stopped dead in his tracks. That, he had not seen coming.


	6. Foot Patrol

"The chick from Apartment 11?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"The one we interviewed when we were canvassing on the Franklin job?"

"Yes."

"The journalist?"

He sighed again before nodding, his eyes still looking straight ahead.

"_Really?_" Andy had said the last bit with exaggerated incredulity.

This time, Nick turned to look at his partner. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged innocently. "Nothing. She just seemed smart. And hot." Andy looked at him matter-of-factly. "Out of your league, basically."

Without a moment's hesitation, Nick stretched out his arm and shoved Andy who almost tripped and fell over.

"You're slowing our foot patrol down, McNally. Keep up."

Andy grimaced behind his back before regaining her balance and hurrying to catch up.


End file.
